


Your Name, Safe in their Mouth

by fowl68



Category: Tales of Symphonia
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Awkwardness, Families of Choice, Family, Father-Son Relationship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Male Friendship, Post-Canon, Sickfic, Spoilers, Two Fathers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-31
Updated: 2020-08-31
Packaged: 2021-03-06 18:29:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,648
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26203474
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fowl68/pseuds/fowl68
Summary: Lloyd isn't feeling so hot, after everything. Good thing he has his dads there.
Relationships: Anna/Kratos Aurion, Dirk & Lloyd Irving, Kratos Aurion & Dirk, Kratos Aurion & Lloyd Irving
Comments: 6
Kudos: 38





	Your Name, Safe in their Mouth

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [your name, safe in their mouth](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25888171) by [astrolesbian](https://archiveofourown.org/users/astrolesbian/pseuds/astrolesbian). 



> Title is taken from the fic that inspired this one. I was trying to find a better one, but I'm like, y'know. That title nails it. If it ain't Baroque, don't fix it.
> 
> Which. Side note. astrolesbian's stories are wonderfully sweet and fantastically written. Go check them out. 
> 
> IDEALLY. This fic would be one of several that I've been working on while trying to figure out how Offerings to a Star. Which, some progress has been made on that front, but there's still a lot to untangle and figure out how best to make it all happen.
> 
> However. This is NOT one of the several fics (and one series) that I've been working on. THIS came out of absolutely nowhere after I'd spent several hours reading about Lan Sizhui and his wonderful dads. (Side side note: If you haven't watched The Untamed, it's on Netflix, and the donghua is on Youtube. Watch it. It's absolutely taken over my brain since like....March? Ish? Phenomenal storytelling, wonderful characters, and it's just. Soulmates y'all.)
> 
> Quarantine is still going, here in Florida. Rather less than successfully, I am very sorry to say, but that's my state for ya. Wear a mask, stay safe, guys.

* * *

* * *

_They say, Find a purpose in life and live it. But sometimes, it is only after you have lived that you recognize your life had a purpose and likely one you never had in mind.  
\--Khaled Hosseini (And the Mountains Echoed)_

* * *

Dirk’s house was not intended for so many people. It was, in fact, intended for two people, and perhaps a few occasional guests. At no point in the construction of his house had Dirk ever considered that there would be nine extra people here. Nine extra people at the beginning of the world. _(Some people would call it the end of the world. Dirk gets it, he does. Between the earthquakes, the monstrous giant tree, and the purple sky, who could blame anyone for saying that it’s the end? But all of that is over, and here they still stand and Dirk refuses to call anything so fortunate an end)_

When they descended on his house, Dirk welcomed them, of course. He fed and watered them, let several of them nap in their seats or in a corner while he busted out his little crate of first aid supplies. But there was no space for all these people now, no space for them to sleep and not trip over each other.

So those who could returned to Iselia. Colette’s house had space for people, and if worse came to worse, there was the schoolhouse that had managed to survive largely unscathed from the fires.

Lloyd had long ago been one of the ones who nodded off at the table. Dirk had shooed him up to bed as the others were trying to find the will to stand back up. Dirk was packing up the last of the dishes and the general debris that accumulated from so many people when Yuan brought some of the last of the cups to bid him goodbye. Yuan and Kratos were the longest-staying guests this house had seen. This was their third day, ever since Lloyd and his friends had left to battle a mad child-god, Kratos too injured to go, and Yuan too loyal to leave. Or at least, that was Dirk’s impression of their relationship.

“Thank you for your hospitality,” Yuan said, forming the words in a way that made Dirk think that he wasn’t used to them. “I have to get back to the Renegades.”

To figure out what to do next, how to navigate this new world of theirs. Dirk had heard some things about the Renegades, a bit from Lloyd and the others, but more from his travels as a younger man. That was a life he could’ve lived, joining them. He could’ve raised Lloyd among them, made it easier on himself, and wouldn’t that have been ironic?

Dirk nodded. “Travel safe. And you and yer people are always welcome here.”

Yuan blinked slow at him. “…Thanks. I’ll pass the message on. But you may regret that offer.”

“A lively bunch, are they?”

Yuan snorted a little, gathering his travelling cloak about his shoulders. “That’s one word for them.”

Dirk looked around at his house, comfortably disheveled as its usual state was. Thought of how, for so many years, the only sounds had been him, his forge and a child’s voice, talking to a mother they didn’t remember that was buried in the yard. Thought of the energy that came with friendship.

“It wouldn’t be so bad, I think.”

Kratos met Yuan at the door, and they had a wordless conversation. They had a lot of those, Dirk had observed. Then again, some four thousand years of friendship did that to people, or so Dirk imagined.

There was a quiet hour or so of getting a broom in Kratos’ hands and following after him with a mop and bucket. Noishe was guarding the door, one of his favorite spots after hours. Every time Kratos passed, Noishe raised his head and, almost as if on instinct, Kratos reached down to scratch his large ears.

Dirk bid Kratos goodnight after that. Kratos had been here just as long as Yuan had. Dirk had set Kratos up with a pile of blankets the kids used to use for their sleepovers. Thus far, Kratos seemed to have made a very careful nest in the corner nearest the door, a soft place to rest his injured back against. Dirk had wondered if Kratos would leave when Yuan did, and wasn’t quite sure what to do about the fact that he hadn’t.

What was he going to do, send his son’s birth father out of the house? He could, but that…didn’t sit right. And Kratos was trying. Somehow. Dirk could see it, could hear it in the occasional hesitant questions about Lloyd. Regardless of whatever opinions Dirk had about Kratos _(The man was part of the most powerful organization in the history of the world and he couldn’t find his own child? And even when he had, he kept choosing things over him?)_ he wouldn’t begrudge Lloyd the chance to get to know his father.

* * *

Nine came and went the next morning without a sign from Lloyd.

“’e’s probably just sleeping off the last few days,” Dirk said, mostly to calm himself as he worked. Lloyd’s portion of breakfast—hearty sausages, eggs, and flatbread—were in a covered plate with dwarven runes carved into it to keep it warm. Lloyd had never been an early riser, but nine in the morning was pushing it even for him, and he’d gone to bed very early last night.

Kratos had been a silent specter by the window for most of the morning. Dirk had managed to get some tea into him, but that was about it. Kratos looked over at Dirk’s voice, frowning at the ceiling the next moment.

Angels had heightened senses, according to Colette and Lloyd. How heightened, Dirk had no idea. “What is it?”

“I’m going to check on him.”

The stairs of Dirk’s house were shallow-stepped and narrow. Kratos knocked, and upon hearing no answer, went inside. Lloyd had kicked off his blankets at some point in the night, still in his underclothes from travelling.

“Lloyd?”

A murmur and a shuffle, but no reply.

Behind him, Kratos heard Dirk enter the room. Kratos lay a hand on Lloyd’s forehead.

“He was fine last night,” Dirk said quietly. “What’s wrong?”

“Just a fever, for now. His mana is fluctuating quite a bit, but that’s to be expected.”

“Why?”

“His Exsphere evolved, due to the fight with Mithos. He begun the process of becoming an angel.”

Dirk strode forward, eyes fiery as he looked up at Kratos. “What does that mean?”

“It means his body is getting used to a new equilibrium.” Kratos pressed his lips together before continuing. “…It’s painful. And disorienting, as well as exhausting. He’ll likely sleep through today, and have very little energy for at least a day or two after that. I imagine that the transformation, as well as the events of the past few days are all catching up with him.”

“But he’s still—”

“Human? I think so. The angel transformation process is not a hard line in the sand. Everyone’s bodies react differently. His lifespan might be extended, he might age a little slower. But the full effects won’t be clear right away.”

Lloyd shifted again, curling towards the familiar voices. Dirk laid a hand on his ankle automatically, while Kratos shifted the blanket back up over Lloyd’s shoulders.

“Dad?”

Kratos froze before backing away. Dirk shifted forward, stroking the sweaty locks of hair from Lloyd’s forehead. “Aye, lad. It’s me. How’d’ye feel?”

“’s cold.”

“Well. Ye got a fever, that happens. We’ll be right here. Ye’ll feel better after some more sleep.”

Lloyd grumbled a little, but under the soothing strokes, he fell back asleep. Dirk looked back at Kratos. “Is there nothin’ ye can do?”

Kratos shook his head. “It’s not something to be Healed. It’s more like…growth spurts.” Kratos didn’t remember having painful growth spurts, but people spoke often about them, so he was sure it wasn’t _un_ common.

Dirk nodded. “…I’ll make some soup.” Dirk paused, thinking of his pantry and the amount of people he’d fed yesterday, before looking back at Kratos, who’d retreated towards the door out to the balcony as soon as Lloyd had said ‘Dad’. _(What a horrible thing it must be, to have your son calling someone else your title)_ “I have to go to town for groceries…Will ye stay with him?”

Dirk had spent many a childhood illness with Lloyd, sitting with him in bed and in front of the fireplace, plying him with soup and tea because in truth, he had had no idea how to do this. He’d never had to take care of someone sick before that. _It’s painful_ , Kratos had said. It unsettled Dirk to think of his son up here, in pain, without Dirk being there by his side.

His birth father could only be the next best thing.

Kratos stared at him as though he was waiting for Dirk to change his mind, to correct himself. Perhaps Kratos thought he’d misheard him.

“Please,” Dirk added.

“…Alright.”

* * *

Lloyd stirred awake at some point in the afternoon, squinting crusty eyes at the sunlight streaming in. There was someone sitting in a chair near the bed, but his eyes refused to focus right now.

“…Dad?”

A pause and then came Kratos’ voice. “It’s me, Lloyd.” A shift and Kratos moved close enough that Lloyd could properly make out his blurry face. A cool hand came to his forehead, and along his jawline, checking his temperature. “How are you feeling?”

“…Sore. ‘m throat hurts.”

The hand retreated, and Lloyd missed it instantly. “Mn. Dirk has soup for you.”

Footsteps and the familiar creak of his bedroom door. Lloyd dozed in and out of wakefulness, not sure how long he was awake or asleep. Everything ached, down to his bones, and his limbs felt heavy.

He didn’t realize when someone re-entered the room.

“Lloyd, are ye awake?”

The familiar voice jolted his attention, insomuch as anything could jolt his attention with this heavy fog in his brain. “Dad!”

There was a gentle bump against his forehead and hands on his cheeks before they left. “Are ye up to eating?”

Lloyd thought about it. He felt hollow, like something had scooped out his insides while he’d slept, but he didn’t feel _hungry_ exactly. “’m not hungry.”

“Fer me then,” Dirk coaxed. “Eat at least a little. Drink some tea, fer yer throat.”

“Mmkay.” Anything for Dad. Lloyd tried to push himself to sit up, but none of his limbs were cooperating very much`. A moment later, there were strong hands about his shoulders, sitting him up with an ease he knew Dirk didn’t have. Dirk was strong, but they’d learned a few years ago that it wasn’t a strength issue, but a leverage issue, when it came to lifting things up of a certain size.

When Lloyd refocused, Kratos was stepping back and Dirk was offering him a bowl of soup. Lloyd would like to say that he was vaguely humiliated at being fed spoon by his dad, but he just…didn’t have the energy to care. Or lift his arms. And it was nice, not having to worry about something that needed doing It had been months of hard travelling and defeating Cruxis.

He didn’t manage to eat much. Dirk made the most amazing stews, and this one was his old go-to for when Lloyd got sick, so it was easy on the stomach, but he could still only manage a few spoonfuls.

* * *

It was very much somewhere in the wee hours of the morning when Lloyd woke again. Kratos didn’t turn from his place sitting on the balcony by the open door. He’d just wanted to air the place out; he could remember being stuck inside, sick and miserable, how the air had always been so stuffy.

Lloyd stared at Kratos, feeling a bit cotton-stuffed, but not as disoriented as before. The pain was a distant thing, just body aches. It was oddly familiar, waking to this. Kratos had always been the night watch for their group, citing experience, but looking back, it was probably easier on him than faking a sleep schedule. Lloyd could draw up the sounds easily, the crackling of the fire, Genis’ snores, Raine shuffling. She was a restless sleeper.

Had Kratos done this for Lloyd’s mom? For both of them? Had he kept watch at night while his family slept?

Lloyd couldn’t remember anything from back then. He’d had vague memories all his life. An impression of a man with a sword had given Lloyd—all of thirteen and desperate to connect to anything about his birth parents—a reason to start learning swordsmanship. He remembered being told stories of the stars, and that was about it.

How had Kratos been like, back then? Less sad, Lloyd was sure, without the odd mix of old and new grief that clung to him. Had he made Mom laugh? Had he laughed with her? Had either of them known any lullabies, like Lloyd remembered Auntie Sasha humming to him and Colette when it was naptime? Had they ever _lived_ somewhere, or had they always been on the move?

Kratos’ silence was frustrating, and Lloyd could still feel the warm weight of the amulet on his sternum. He wanted to ask all the questions that had burst out of him so many times as a kid. Dirk hadn’t had answers for those. He’d tried, but he couldn’t have known anything about Anna’s family, or Kratos’. Couldn’t have known if Lloyd had cousins or other family out there somewhere. Couldn’t have told Lloyd if he was anything like his birth parents.

Lloyd rolled out of bed, bedcovers around his shoulders like a cloak as he shuffled outside, sitting next to Kratos with a grunt of effort. The floor was so _far_ sometimes. 

“How do you feel?” Kratos asked quietly, looking at him.

“…sore. Tired.”

“You should keep resting.” Lloyd blinked in surprise when Kratos’ hand came up to his forehead, then his cheek. “The fever has gone down, at least.”

“I don’t want to sleep anymore. And I can rest just as easily out here.” It was nice, to be outside. The night air was crisp, and it was too early in the year for cicadas or fireflies, but the forest was never truly quiet.

Kratos relented reluctantly, turning his head back up to the stars. He looked smaller, outside of his usual clothing, without the sword at his hip. He was wearing some old clothes of Lloyd’s, a T-shirt stretched a bit tight on his shoulders, and the pants a bit too long about the ankles.

Would Lloyd be taller than Kratos one day? Lloyd had at least one more growth spurt left probably, and he and Kratos were only a few inches apart now. Did height run in their family? Or were Kratos and Lloyd flukes?

There was a thick scar along Kratos’ forearm. From the top to the underside, long-healed, hardly visible except for the sheen of silver from the moonlight. Had he gotten that in the War? How had it happened? Had Mithos or Yuan or Martel been with him? What had it been like, back then? Had they been friendly, or had they bickered all the time? _(Lloyd can’t imagine Mithos without his insanity. Not really. He had seen it in pieces, as had they all, when Mithos had travelled with them, but how much of that had been an act and how much had been his honest personality, Lloyd doesn’t think he’ll ever know)_

Lloyd didn’t know how to ask those sorts of things. Dirk had never discouraged questions, but he was a quiet type. Dirk had talked to Lloyd in an absent-minded, narration kind of way as he’d worked, answering whatever questions Lloyd had about what he was doing. But Lloyd had learned not to ask much about Dirk’s family. Dirk would still answer, but Lloyd had hated making Dirk get that far away look in his eyes, so he eventually stopped asking.

“You should eat something,” Kratos said. “While you have the energy.”

Lloyd laughed a little—‘energy’ was a strong word for what he had—but didn’t protest. Had Kratos been like this when Lloyd was sick as a baby? Had he stayed up to watch over him? Had his parents taken turns? Had one of them stroked his hair like Dirk did, or rubbed his back like Raine had for him and Genis after a bout of food poisoning in Altamira?

The possibilities were nice to think about.

* * *

When Kratos came back with a bowl of reheated soup and a pot of tea, Lloyd was dozing. He made sure his footsteps were a bit louder than usual, made sure to let the bowl and pot clink together in his hands as he sat. It hurt, that Lloyd had such defensive reactions to being startled from sleep. Kratos had found that out earlier when they’d nudged Lloyd awake at the dinner table, Lloyd’s hands immediately grasping the knife in front of him, eyes half-wild, and unfocused. It certainly wasn’t a surprising thing, not after all that the group had been through. Lloyd personally had been through Derris-Kharlan alone, had rescued the others from the Derris Emblem, or so they’d said. They’d talked carefully around the subject over dinner. Again, not surprising.

“Lloyd,” Kratos called, careful to keep his voice from being too loud or too soft. Either had an equal chance of startling him. But Kratos was well-versed in waking traumatized soldiers, and Lloyd stiffened a little, but didn’t do anything more drastic than that. “Here, eat.”

Lloyd ate slowly, as though the effort of lifting the spoon was insurmountable. Kratos wouldn’t rush him, and simply let himself absorb the young man who was his son.

It would be jarring for anyone, Kratos imagined, to see their son who they’d thought dead alive and grown, but Kratos’ sense of time was so warped from his lifespan that Anna and Lloyd might have died only a few months ago. Lloyd had called him Daddy then, had happily tumble-run smack into Kratos’ knees, and swung hands with Anna while they walked as she made up increasingly inventive tales to answer Lloyd’s never-ending questions.

They were two different people, in a way, in Kratos’ memories. There was Lloyd his son, chubby-cheeked and high-voiced, boundless energy well-suited to being on the road. His hands had been tiny, gripping onto Kratos’ fingers to drag him to see whatever exciting frog or pretty flower had caught his eye.

And then there was Lloyd the young man. Not a seasoned warrior when they’d met, but passably good for being largely self-taught. Fiercely protective, but his sweetness wasn’t gone in how he treated Colette, or Sheena even, when they were more familiar. Mischievous and brash and laughing loudly as he and Genis raced and circled around people and towns, play-fighting and tagging each other. Still endlessly curious, drawn to all sorts of odds and ends at the town markets, calling the others over to check them out. Occasionally fiddling with little puzzle boxes and puzzle rings that he scraped together some gald for.

Kratos tried to imagine all the things in between. Tried to imagine his baby-faced son growing into his limbs, and all those associated scrapes and cuts. Lloyd wasn’t clumsy, but he had the recklessness of a boy who’d grown up exploring the surrounding forest, and had thrown himself at the world and learned to pick himself back up. He tried to imagine his son play-fighting with sticks and leaping from stumps in imaginary epic duels. He imagined his son Lloyd’s stubborn pout when he wanted to fight bedtime, imagining him with it at ten and doing homework. He didn’t have to imagine that look on Lloyd the young man’s face, had seen the way his lips and jaw tightened, how his shoulders drew up. Not a pout anymore, but still the same defiance.

The changes were visible in so many places, in the creases of Lloyd’s eyes when he smiled, and in the set of his jaw when he was being serious. Here were all the places where his child grew into himself. All the ways he grew up without Kratos.

Lloyd glanced over and saw the pot of tea, the one where it could nest inside the teacup for easy transportation. Dirk had made it as a trial run, but it hadn’t been very popular with clients.

“Did Dad make you drink tea too?” Lloyd asked, his voice still a bit rough, but not as scratchy as it had been when he’d first sat down.

_(Kratos doesn’t hate Dirk for anything, can’t blame Lloyd for calling Dirk his dad. Dirk had been more of a father to Lloyd than Kratos had been, could ever be, really. That doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt to hear)_

“Very often,” Kratos replied. Dirk was nurturing in a kind of rough way that reminded Kratos of Martel. Matter-of-fact and always with a certain amount of stink-eye to warn their patient off of doing something stupid again.

It was oddly comforting, to be treated like that again.

Lloyd laughed, little more than some soft exhales. Kratos eyed the level of the soup in the bowl. Almost half was gone; a considerable improvement to that afternoon. “Yeah, he does that. He likes to think soup and tea fix everything.”

“They certainly can’t hurt.” Kratos could imagine Dirk with a sick child he hadn’t signed up for. Had Dirk ever even wanted children? Soup and tea were the go-tos, and trying to find a way for a child to enjoy the taste of tea more than likely involved a spoonful or two of sugar.

Lloyd was already lucky to have such a wonderful father in Dirk. Dirk had clearly raised him well, had raised him to be so brave, and kind. Had raised him to think the best of people. Surely Lloyd didn’t need another father, regardless of blood relation. Not when he was already grown, and surely even a good man like him had some nuggets of resentment for all the things Kratos had done, for the fact that Kratos had never found him.

But that was alright. His son was _alive_. Alive, and largely well—however uncomfortable and miserable the angel transformation process was, it wasn’t inherently life threatening. And Lloyd’s Key Crest was excellently made, and the process of Exsphere evolution had not been forced or manufactured in any way, so really, Lloyd was likely to come out of this with a set of wings, heightened senses, and at worst, some shorter sleep cycles.

His son was strong, and had friends and a father who loved him dearly. His son had a _future_ , which was more than Kratos could have ever guaranteed him. A future of his own choice and making. How wonderful. 

* * *

“Are you done eating?”

Lloyd’s head swam at the mere thought of finishing his soup. “Yeah.”

Kratos took the bowl, swapping it for the mug of tea. Lloyd’s nose wrinkled at it—coffee sounded _great_ right now—but he knew better than to argue. He sniffed the tea, frowning when he didn’t quite recognize it. His dad’s tended to be on the spicier side, but this didn’t smell like anything his dad brewed. “Is this peppermint?”

“Yes. With ginger and lemon.”

The trifecta, Lloyd thought. Dirk didn’t like putting all three together, something about his herbal sensitivities—which Lloyd firmly believed was not a thing. Even if it was, dwarves didn’t have it. Dirk had frequently said that he was the only dwarf living so very much above ground and that had any kind of green thumb.

Lloyd sipped the tea dutifully. The taste was powerful, a little overwhelmingly so, but not bad, and it certainly cleared his sinuses of anything that had been lingering in there. “…Where’d you learn how to make tea?”

That was a safe topic, right? Tea was pretty neutral.

There was a long silence where Lloyd thought that this was the next appearance of Kratos doing his best imitation of a brick wall, but finally, Kratos answered. “We were figuring it out ourselves as we travelled. I didn’t learn to make tea _properly_ until Martel.”

Lloyd stared at him, unsure of how to continue. Kratos had _never_ mentioned Martel, had barely scraped the topic of what Mithos had even been to him. _(“He was my student, and a very good friend…”)_ Did he dare ask more about Martel? Or did he try to go the safe way? Lloyd didn’t want this conversation to stop. He didn’t even know what Kratos would do once he was fully healed. What if this was his last chance to talk to him?

Lloyd decided to go the safe route. Martel, and everything she’d been to Kratos, Mithos and Yuan, was a minefield. “Who’s ‘we’?”

A puzzled noise.

“You said ‘ _we_ were figuring it out’. Who’s ‘we’?”

“…Yuan and I.”

That made…a lot of sense, if Lloyd thought about it. Yuan and Kratos had a strange relationship, very different from how either of them were with Mithos, or with anyone else. “You two were friends first?”

A nod. Another long silence. Finally, “…He’s your godfather.”

Lloyd nearly gave himself whiplash. “ _Yuan_?”

Another nod.

He had a godfather? And it was Yuan, of all people.

On another note. This had been only eighteen years ago. Whenever anyone spoke of Kratos and Yuan—with the Yggdrasills or without—they made it sound so far away. Which it was. Four thousand years was a lot of time. But Kratos had trusted Yuan with Lloyd less than twenty years ago.

“He’s never mentioned it.”

“He wouldn’t. But he was very honored.”

“…What did Mom say about it?”

It was only because Lloyd was looking for it that he saw the sudden stiffness in Kratos. “They were…friends. Of a sort.”

_That_ was hard to wrap his head around. Yuan had never existed in Lloyd’s understanding of family. For all his life, Lloyd had had Dirk, and his mom buried in the yard. Then he’d gotten Kratos, and that was easy enough to fit into his mental picture. After all, he’d needed a biological father _somewhere_. But his mom being friends with Yuan. That idea was wild. Yuan was cold, and sarcastic, and standoffish. What had Mom been like? Had she snarked back and forth with him? What had they even bonded over?

“Wait, did Yuan _babysit me_?”

Kratos let out an amused sound, a corner of his lip curling just a bit. “Sometimes.”

“…How did I survive that long?” Yuan did not seem like the type of adult that should be given care of small humans. Ever.

There was a muffled sound, something between a cough and a chuckle. “He will never admit it, but he likes children.”

Oh, but Lloyd couldn’t wait until he saw Yuan again. Their next conversation was going to be so much fun now. “How mad do you think he’ll get if I call him Uncle Yuan?”

“…He might throw something at you.”

Lloyd grinned. “Perfect.”

They went quiet for a while. Lloyd drank the rest of his tea, feeling the soreness in his muscles ease a bit. He picked at a loose thread in his blanket, not wanting to look at Kratos when he said, “Before we left, you mentioned something about leaving with Derris-Kharlan. After.”

“Yes, I think it’s best,” Kratos said. “There are a great deal of Exspheres up there, and someone must make sure they’re disposed of properly. The truth of Cruxis will come out, and someone must take responsibility for the things we’ve done.”

“Right, but...do you think leaving is the best way to do that?”

“The world needs as few reminders of Cruxis as possible. It’s best that the new world is built free from our influence.”

“But you don’t have to be involved with that stuff. With the government or anything. You could just—” _Stay_.

“There’s no place for me in the new world.”

“Of course there is!” Lloyd burst up on his knees, swaying a little with the sudden blood flow. Kratos steadied him with a hand. _(Had he done this when Lloyd was small? When Lloyd was learning to walk? Had he crouched and welcomed him? Had he smiled with pride and kissed him?)_ “You’re—you’re my _dad_ , there’s always going to be a place for you! Not everything has to be—world-endingly important y’know. You could—”

What? Become a farmer? Live a simple life? Lloyd couldn’t ask Kratos to do that just for him. He obviously didn’t even want to stay.

_(Kratos isn’t even sure he knows what that kind of life looks like. He has never known a life of peace. Not a proper one. The closest he has ever come has been on the road with his family, both times. With Yuan, Mithos and Martel, even in very active warzones, they’d found their bubbles of peace. With Anna, and later Lloyd, by his side, she had made him see new beauty in a world he thought he knew every inch of. But there had always been the fear in the back of his brain, the paranoia of how long this could possibly last, of how soon would people come for his family, to take them away from him?_

_Peace is something he has fought, and killed, and loved for, but he has never seen it. Not truly. He doesn’t know what it looks like, has never had the freedom to choose what he would do if he didn’t have to be what he is)_

“…You want me to stay?” Kratos asked, letting go of Lloyd as Lloyd sank back down, tiredness dragging at him still.

“I mean, yeah, of course. But—I—I get it if _you_ don’t want to stay.” There was no room for Lloyd to be selfish here. When was the last time Kratos had really gotten a choice in how he lived his life? Without any pressures?

“…I do not know what I would do. After finishing with Derris-Kharlan.” He didn’t really have to go _with_ it into space. The Eternal Sword was still tethering it here until Lloyd did otherwise.

Lloyd stared at him, this uncertain angel, this man who’d done so much bad and so much good, looking much more vulnerable than Lloyd had really seen him, even on that night in Flanoir. “Well. I think I’m proof that you make a pretty good teacher. And I think Iselia has an opening.” They hadn’t discussed what was going to happen, after, but Lloyd couldn’t picture Raine just, going back to how it all was.

“A teacher, huh?” Kratos nodded to himself. “Perhaps.”

Lloyd beamed at him, cuddling a bit into his blankets as he got a chill. Kratos could stay. Lloyd could get to know his father, could have him as part of his family. Lloyd had been able to imagine a life after Cruxis, but he’d never actually imagined this. Not realistically. Guess the world was always going to be full of surprises.

* * *

Later, when Lloyd had fallen back asleep, and was tucked into bed once more, Dirk said, “Yer thinkin’ of stayin’?”

“I do not wish to impose. It could take time, to find an appropriate place to live, and I would not—” Kratos paused, unsure of how to phrase it. “You’re his father, far more than I am. If you were not comfortable with it—”

“Bah. Don’t be ridiculous. I’ve never heard of a rule where a boy can only have one father.” Dirk prodded at his forge, stoking the coals. “He’s yer son too, and I would never argue for his right te get ter know ye.”

“…Thank you”

* * *

Several months later at what were becoming routine monthly dinners at Dirk’s for everyone—they were all too busy to see each other regularly, but they could clear a night out once a month to just relax and eat and descend on Dirk’s house properly—Lloyd greeted his godfather coming through the door with, “Hi, Uncle Yuan!”

The entire room froze for a moment before it broke out in laughter at the glare that Yuan levelled at Kratos, who was in charge of setting the table for tonight. Regal was allowed at the stove, after careful consideration from Dirk, and Sheena was putting together some cool barley tea, a favorite summer drink in Mizuho.

“Traitor,” Yuan muttered at Kratos as he took half of the plates to do the other half of the table.

Yuan _did_ end up throwing something at Lloyd, when Lloyd called him that again. It was a bread roll and aimed with deadly accuracy right at Lloyd’s forehead, who just laughed and split the roll with Genis.

It was awkward, still. Very often, actually, because Kratos wasn’t used to people yet, but as Lloyd had predicted, he made a good teacher. Lloyd didn’t call Kratos ‘Dad’ in public. It would only get more awkward the older Lloyd got, calling a man too visually close to his own age to have sired him.

But somewhere in between family dinners and shared cups of tea—Lloyd was slowly trying to get Kratos to like coffee—Lloyd would get Kratos’ attention with a quiet, “Dad”, and it was something in the inflection that let both of his fathers always know exactly who he was referring to.

And Kratos didn’t call Lloyd his son openly. Not often. But his voice was a bit softer when he spoke, and there was an occasional hand on Lloyd’s shoulder, brief and warm and solid. A reminder of _here and alive and happy_.

And that was enough.


End file.
